Waking me up is the sound of African drums in my head
Banging loud enough to wake up the dead
Can’t move, my head is as heavy as lead
Spinning fast and faster seems to my bed
Closing my eyes, only making things worse instead
Groaning, I manage to sit on the side of my bed

 
Cursing, I make my way to the bathroom where my babalas I hoped to shed
Standing before the mirror, my eyes are blood shot-red
“Jesus Christ on a stolen donkey, what animal had last night bred?”
The mascara so carefully applied last night, to the dogs it had been fed
“Never to drink again”, once again a mental note is made,
With difficulty, I reach for tablets in the medicine cabinet overhead,

 
Don’t want to think of how I will make it to the day ahead,
Ooh, I groan, I just want to lie down and play dead!
To pick up thrown clothes on the floor I bend
Under the chair I find a piece of torn plastic wrapper with ‘latex’ it read
Trying to remember the evening before I scratched my pounding head
Giving me another headache was how my way home I made

 
My loyal little people, I asked, in my head
What had happened and to what it had led
Neither of us remembering, I gave in and lost the thread
All memories of yester night seemed to have been shred
Couldn’t even remember whether I wore white, black or red
My memories and the day ahead now I do dreads

ng the lounge to the kitchen over furniture I almost did tread
Making my way to the kitchen for some cereal or maybe some bread
Only to find a stranger in my white-fluffy towel his tummy he’s fed
So shocked to see him I almost dropped dead
“Great place you got … and ‘twas fun last night,” he said.
With a big smile, “and by the way, my name is Fred.”